


bloodbuzz

by inlovewithnight



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Kissing, M/M, czech boys, the wings are bad but they deserve love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:48:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: Z stretches his legs under the table and sighs, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “You know,” he says after a moment, “your fight was really good.”
Relationships: Filip Hronek/Filip Zadina
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	bloodbuzz

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the Wings/Panthers game 1.18.20.

Filip spent most of the game pissed and he ends the game still pissed, stomping through the locker room to his stall without looking at anyone. His teammates give him his space; they’re experts at this after games, now, everyone retreating into their own little bubbles to brood over what they could’ve done differently to make it not go the way it did, not end up so bad.

He strips and heads to the showers. He lets himself stand under the hot water for longer than he needs, letting it pound on his face and then turning to get the same on his shoulders. He’s still angry, but the water blunts the worst edge of it and lets the exhaustion in.

_Fuck_ this season. Fuck the Panthers, what kind of bullshit even was that. Fuck Vincent Trochek the most of all of them. Running his mouth and getting in the way. Filip won’t forget this, the next time they play. Not that it will do much good, but if he can get in a hard check, even, instead of a punch, he’ll take it. 

Somebody knocks on the wall nearby, a gentle cue to bring him back to himself so he doesn’t drown in there. More looking out for each other after the bad shit, without actively intruding on each other’s space. Filip shakes his head and turns the water off. Fine, yes, he’ll go back to the room, get dressed, get the fuck out of here. 

There are a few low conversations going on when he gets back to his stall, a few guys asking each other about going out for food or a drink, but Filip doesn’t look at anyone, and so they don’t try to draw him in. He drops his towel, pulls on his underwear, and is in the middle of roughly rubbing the excess water out of his hair when someone drops down on the bench near him and says his name.

He pulls the towel down to dry his chest and looks; of course it’s Z, solemn-faced and waiting for Filip to acknowledge him. “Yeah?” Filip says after a moment, in Czech for his countryman. “Do you need something?”

Z is dressed in his suit pants and dress shirt, jacket folded over his lap, tie nowhere to be seen. “Just waiting for you.”

Filip shakes his head. “Don’t need to do that.”

Z shrugs. “We’ll get dinner.”

“We don’t need to.” He likes Z so much, he does, but he never takes no for an answer.

Sure enough, he just sits there, looking at Filip patiently. He obviously knows that Filip is going to crack, and he’ll wait all night if necessary. Filip wishes they were still on the ice, so he could shove him back, force the hint on him. But this is the locker room, and they’re not in pads, and Z is his teammate and his fellow Czech and so sort of his little brother. No shoving allowed. No punching. Nothing to do but give in to what he wants.

“Yeah, okay,” he says after a moment of oh so patient silence. “Fine. Let me get dressed.” 

Z smiles a little and takes his phone out, typing away at it while Filip puts on his clothes. Larkin and Green tap him on the shoulder as they pass on their way out the door, and Filip nods to them. Nobody has to say anything. They’re all in this together.

“Ready?” Z says when Filip finishes buttoning up his shirt. “We can take my car. I’ll bring you back to get yours.”

“I’m going to get drunk with dinner.” Filip drags his fingers through his hair and leaves it to do what it wants. “You can drive me home after, and bring me back to get it tomorrow.”

Another little smile. “Yes, boss.”

Filip rolls his eyes and pulls his suit jacket on, then his proper winter coat. “All right, let’s go, then.”

Z can start the heat in his car remotely, and did, so they don’t have to slide into cold leather. Filip sighs and lets his head thump back against the seat. “Fuck.”

“It wasn’t as bad as it has been.” Z fusses with getting his phone connected to the BlueTooth, and his terrible taste in music starts playing. “We were right in it until the third. A few bounces the other way…”

“Same as last night.” It was true; as losses went, theirs to the Penguins and Panthers weren’t _bad_. In a normal season, both games would have been seen as losses with dignity. This year, though, it’s all just punchlines.

“Yeah, exactly.” Z seems unperturbed. “Some things are clicking. We’re getting better.”

Filip wants to bash his own head against the window glass. “It’s too late to get better.” 

“You’re hangry,” Z says, the English word dropping gleefully from his mouth. It’s one of his favorites. “No more talking until you’re fed.”

The place they go isn’t anything special, really; it has protein-heavy basics, options for the vegans, and has been quietly catering to Red Wings players for years even as the meal plans shift around them. Filip and Z are ushered to a table in the back without fuss and their orders are sent to the kitchen straightaway. Filip drinks the water placed in front of him and glances sideways at Z, who’s on his phone again, smiling to himself.

“Who are you talking to?” Filip asks finally.

“Nobody. I’m just on TikTok.”

“With the sound off? Isn’t that against the whole point?”

Z shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t want to play music in the restaurant.”

He’s so strange and sweet. Filip pushes back the urge to hug him just like he did with the urge to shove him earlier. Z gives him way too many physical impulses. He doesn’t know what to do about that.

The waiter brings a beer for him and more water for Z, because they are living and playing in a backward country. Z stretches his legs under the table and sighs, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “You know,” he says after a moment, “your fight was really good.”

Filip snorts over his beer. “No, it wasn’t.”

“It was. You were great.”

“I got seventeen minutes in penalties.” Which was fucking ridiculous. The refs were just spinning a wheel tonight. 

Z shrugs. “Maybe it wasn’t worth a misconduct, but it was worth the instigator and the fighting. You were great.” He puts a little more emphasis on the last word this time, and Filip frowns.

“Thank you? I guess?”

Z finally looks at him, staring into his eyes like he’s trying to get across something very important to someone who is very slow. Which, well. Filip has had a long day. “You looked good out there. Fighting like that.”

Filip blinks once, twice. Oh. “You think so?”

Z nods. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since. All night.”

Filip’s face heats up, and his pulse goes faster. “You’re just a kid, you shouldn’t be thinking that.”

Z rolls his eyes and looks back at his plate. “You’re not that much older than me. Don’t do that.”

Filip can’t think of anything else to say, so he doesn’t, just eats. When the waiter comes by again, he orders a harder drink, and ignores Z’s little snort. He’d said he was going to get drunk before Z had decided to make things strange, so why shouldn’t he? He can do what he wants.

This all seems like a very good idea until the bill comes. “Look at you, idiot,” Z says, putting his credit card in the folder the waiter handed him, while Filip studies his own in bafflement. “You should have told them you wanted a less expensive kind.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” Filip shoves his own card into the folder and sets it on the table. His head is swirling a little, and he rubs at his eyes. “You’re not being very nice to me tonight, you know.”

“How am I not being nice?”

“Teasing me about this, pretending you were turned on by me fighting.” Filip shakes his head. “Not nice at all.”

Z sits still for a moment, until the waiter takes their cards and moves away again. “You should pay better attention,” he says finally. “I wasn’t pretending anything.”

“You have to be pretending.”

“Why?”

Filip wants to put his head down on the table and scream in frustration. “Because it’s not allowed, you know that.”

Z shrugs, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “You know nobody cares about things like that here, not _really_.”

“A lot of people care. In, you know. Bad ways.”

“Not anybody who matters. Not anybody we know.” Z jerks his chin up before Filip can say anything else. “Just sign your check and I’ll take you home, all right? Forget I said anything.”

“I can’t just forget,” Filip says, but Z is ignoring him now and making a big show of it, signing his check and standing up to put on his jacket and find his keys. Filip ends up hurrying along behind him out the door, just like back at the locker room. 

He wants to grab Z around the waist and pull him back, make him talk, make him _explain_. He wants to tackle him down into the slushy, icy mess on the pavement and they can both freeze out here as long as things make sense before they do. 

He wants to know if Z really, truly meant it. Means it. Because if he means it... if Z wants that... if Z wants that, _too_ …

Well, then Filip has spent an awful lot of nights lying in his condo and refusing to let his hand move down his own body, because he was thinking of the wrong things. It’s not so much that Z is another man—he sorted through most of that when he was younger, as long as his parents and the church don’t know, then it doesn’t hurt anyone. 

But Z is younger. Z is his little brother on the team, his fellow Czech who he looks out for. And Z is so _good_ , so talented. Filip can’t do anything that might hold him back or bring him down. He can never to anything that might hurt him. 

His head isn’t spinning anymore. He might have sobered himself up with pure anxiety, which would be a useful trick if it didn’t make him feel so bad on its own.

Neither of them speaks the whole drive to Filip’s building. Z parks the car and stares straight ahead, no sound between them but the roar of the car’s heater. He hadn’t even put his terrible music on for this second drive, Filip realizes. 

“Filípek,” Filip says finally, hoping the gentle form of the name will buy him a little forgiveness. “I’m sorry I was rude, before.”

“You never listen to me. You think I’m a kid.” He turns his head and the look in his eyes stops anything Filip might want to say before he can even formulate it. “I’m twenty years old now, so just stop that shit, all right? Either you want me or you don’t.”

Typical for Z to play him right into a corner. “Well.” Filip rubs his jaw and looks out the window. The silence stretches out again, painful with tension now. “Come inside, then.” 

Inside, Z hangs his coat over one of Filip’s chairs and shoves his hands in his pockets. Filip fidgets around the room after putting his own things away, then sighs and jerks his head toward the living room. “Come on, then, let’s sit down to talk.”

“Wait.” Z reaches out, then lets his hand drop. “Look. It doesn’t have to... I shouldn’t have said that.”

“What part?” Filip folds his arms over his chest. “You were honest. That’s better than lying to each other, isn’t it?”

Z shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have said that you either want me or you don’t, like it’s... like there’s any reason you _should_. I’m the one being inappropriate.”

“You’re not.” Filip’s stomach is twisting up, like he’s veering close to the edge of something and he’s either going to fall badly or fly out into space. “It’s not inappropriate. And it’s not just you.”

Z huffs a little, not quite a laugh, and his eyebrows go up. “It’s not?”

Filip shakes his head, his hands clenching into fists where they’re safely hidden under his crossed arms. He can’t look directly at Z; even though Z’s already said it for himself, putting it out there makes Filip feel scalded and exposed. Z can see right down past his skin now, if he’s looking. Filip doesn’t know how to deal with that.

“Hey. Hey.” Z takes a step toward him, then crosses the rest of the way in a rush. “Don’t look scared about it. It’s just me. I’m not going to laugh at you or be mean to you or—or whatever. Why would I? I want the same.”

“I know.” Filip wants to let Z touch him, wants to reach out himself, even, but he can’t yet. His body won’t move to open his arms. 

Z studies him for a moment, eyes narrowing. “You think it’s okay for me to want things but not for you?” Filip doesn’t answer, but he must move somehow or make a face because Z rolls his eyes. “That’s stupid, you know, just stupid. If I felt that way you would tell me I should have what I want as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody.”

“ _You_ should, yes.” Filip leans back against the wall, looking at him. “And I don’t know for sure that it won’t hurt you.”

“Oh my God.” Z shakes his head and steps even closer, enough that Filip can feel the heat from his body. “You’re as bad as Larks, worrying too much like this. Here. Let me show you.”

“Show me _what_?” Filip asks, or starts to ask, because before he finishes the words, Z’s hands are on his arms, holding him steady against the wall, and Z is kissing him.

Z was right; it doesn’t hurt. From the sound Z makes, low and satisfied, it doesn’t hurt him either, not even when Filip relaxes his jaw and leans into it. He sounds even more pleased at that, and when he finally pulls away, it’s to give Filip a smug smile. 

“See? Nothing bad.”

Filip reaches out and cups Z’s chin in his hand, brushing his thumb over the bit of redness his beard left around Z’s mouth. It’s already fading now, but if they kissed longer, deeper, it could mark Z up.

He should be worried about that idea, probably, but instead he likes it.

Z leans into his touch, eyebrows going up again. “Are you going to say something or are you just going to look at me?”

“I like looking at you.” He sounds shy, he realizes, but it makes Z smile more, so that’s fine. “And I’m not good at knowing what to say, obviously. Since I pissed you off so much before.”

“You need to just listen to me. I know what’s best.” Z laughs and leans in to kiss him again, one hand moving up to curve around the back of Filip’s head. Filip closes his eyes and tries to lose himself in it again, in how Z’s mouth tastes warm and feels soft, in how Z’s pressing moving close enough now to press their bodies together from chest to hips. 

When they break apart again, they’re both breathing harder. Filip licks his lips, and Z’s eyes go right to the motion, lingering there with anticipation that makes Filip’s stomach twist and flip all over again. Not—not that, tonight. That’s jumping ahead faster than he can go. He needs some time to get used to this, to fit it into the order of his world. 

And he needs more time to look at Z. Memorize him. Kiss him. Do all the ground work before he’s ready for more.

“If you know what’s best,” he says finally, and Z blinks at him, brow furrowing. Maybe he already forgot that he’d said that, because he’s so busy staring at Filip’s mouth. Filip can live with that, if it’s the case. “Then am I still allowed to make suggestions?”

Z nods, letting go of one of Filip’s arms long enough to drag his hand through his hair. “Yeah, of course.”

Filip jerks his head toward the living room. “You want to go in there? On the couch? It might be a little more comfortable.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Z’s hand goes back to Filip’s bicep, squeezes it a little, then slides down to take his hand. “I’m a good influence on you.”

“Ha. I don’t know about that.” Holding Z’s hand feels strange, but good, even for just the short little walk to the couch. Filip squeezes it a little, experimentally, and Z grins at him and squeezes back.

Z moves to straddle his lap as soon as they sit down, and Filip catches his hips, steadying him until he’s seated neatly there. “Just kiss me,” Filip says, feeling heat rise in his face again. “Just that tonight, okay?”

Z doesn’t tease, thank God, just nods, his eyes going serious for a moment. “Whatever you want.” 

Filip looks down at his hands on Z’s body, and a moment later, Z’s hands settle on top of his, steadying him right back. “You were throwing punches earlier and now you’re holding me like this, so careful,” Z says, his voice soft again. “I like that about you, you know? How you’ve got all these different things.”

“I’m not going to throw punches at _you_.” Fuck. He can’t even imagine. 

“I know that!” Z squeezes Filip’s hands and smiles at him. “Just at people who mess with me, right?”

Filip just nods; there aren’t the right words in the world to answer that. He went after Trocheck just for hitting Filpulla, he would do so much more for Z. He would take Tom Wilson on for Z. He would take on Chara. Anybody. 

Z kisses him again, slow and warm, and Filip drifts away with it. Next game, win or lose—next fight, or whatever happens—he'll carry this with him. He’ll look across the room and see Z smiling back at him, and that will make things better, a little bit at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> When your pairing is Filip/Filip you'll take any nickname you can get in order to avoid having to write in second person. Apologies to Zetterberg for stealing your Z, friend.
> 
> Inspired by this Hronek-Zadina interview for the Wings' social media, which is very cute.   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Wd0IfmSfJk


End file.
